Tea And an Offer
by traindriversandastronauts
Summary: This is a Patrick Jane/Luther Wainwright fic. The beginning will focus more on the case.  Wainwright offers help to Jane, and past experience tells him not to accept it. Perhaps this will be better, and much more useful...
1. Tea and an Offer

"Jane. _Patrick_." He paused, deciding how to structure his sentence. "Losing your wife and child isn't like losing a pair of shoes at the gym. You aren't going to forget in a few weeks' time, once you have gotten new ones. Years will pass, and you will still remember how the carpet felt beneath your feet as you walked to the bedroom door. You will remember the remaining scent of the previous night's dinner as you walked through the hallway. You will remember. You will _always_ remember." His voice grew fainter and his eyes wondered to Jane's. Quickly, they fell to the floor.

Patrick picked up his tea stained mug from the coffee table and lifted it cautiously to his lips. It was not often that Patrick Jane felt smaller than any other man, but Luther Wainwright reduced him to a nervous, hesitant, _ordinary_ person. They sat in a mutual silence, Wainwright on a large chair behind his desk, and Jane on a low backed, low budget chair almost opposite.

After placing his cup back on the table, Jane parted his lips as if he was about to say something, but soon closed them, twisting them into a weak smile. With two fingers, he unconsciously twisted the silver wedding ring on his left hand. A single button on his waistcoat had come undone, revealing more of the pale blue, ironed shirt he wore underneath. It tucked neatly into his dark trousers, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Releasing a breath he didn't realise he was holding, Jane leant back in his seat, loosening the tight posture he had been keeping. Wainwright followed, lifting his right leg up to rest on his left.

"I know just as well as you do that you aren't going to accept help from anyone. If you _do_, you'll waste everyone's time and make up stories, because you're so _incredibly_ more hilarious and intelligent than whoever else is in the room –"

"And whoever else _isn't_ in the room,"

"- and whoever else isn't in the room. I'm not going to demand you go and talk to one of our councillors. If you thought that would be a good idea, you would have gone yourself. Plus, I know it will end in disaster."

"You're probably right."

"Instead," Wainwright faltered. Jane resumed his strict posture, unsure of what was being suggested. "I thought that, perhaps, you could talk to me. I know I haven't been here long, but I was hoping that you can trust me. It is my responsibility to make sure you are well, as your boss and your friend."

Patrick ran his tongue across his teeth, contemplating the man's offer.

"I'm sure you've heard this speech from Lisbon, the rest of the team, and previous bosses. Please, at least consider it."

Again, a silence fell between the men, but this time, it was tense, almost uncomfortable. Fiddling with his cuffs that were now pulled down to his wrists, Jane sat forward in his seat. He regularly spoke of his relationship with Red John, and what had happened to his family, but that was usually to help get information for a case. Unless they gain something from it, people are rarely interested in another's troubles. However, although he barely knew Wainwright, he recognised a certain trust between them. He knew that although Luther was young – especially for a CBI agent – he was intelligent. It wasn't often that Patrick met intelligent people that weren't psychos or "psychics".

"Well –", Jane started.

"Have you seen Ja-? Oh, sorry, I'll just..."

"No, come in Lisbon. Patrick's been with me. There's no need to worry; he's not gone chasing the suspect in a case we haven't even looked at yet. _For once."_

"I've just had a call from a local PD. A young girl that had been missing for two days has been found dead in a park. The family are still there now. It's about half an hour's drive and apparently it's raining, so you'd better grab a coat. Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby are coming too. We'll meet you by the car in two minutes", she said before disappearing from the office.

This left Jane and Wainwright stood facing each other.

"I'd better get going then."

"Think about my offer. _Please._"

Jane replied with a smile. Luther returned it. Cautiously, he reached out his hand to touch Patrick's. The brush of skin was gentle, soft, and only brief, but it was comforting. Pulling his arm back to his side, he smiled again and locked eyes with the opposite man, before lowering his.

Jane turned, crossed the room, opened the door, and left.

Sighing, Luther retreated to his desk and began working through a pile of official complaint forms. One name was frequently among them: _Patrick Jane_.


	2. The Death of Charlotte King

"Charlotte King. Cause of death was a broken neck. There are bruises on the shoulders and upper arms, and a cut on her cheek. She was found by Mr. And Mrs. Tyler while they were walking their dog."

A small, girl's body was sprawled out on the leaves. A light-pink dress covered her pale skin. White socks sat roughly bellow her knees, almost covering shallow grazes. Her blonde fringe was thrown over her forehead, the rest tied into two unkempt plaits. Her blue eyes gazed emptily up through the tree tops.

"Where's the family?"

"They left about fifteen minutes ago. Jane? Where are you going? Jane!" Lisbon sighed. "Cho, follow him. I'll stay here with Rigsby and Van Pelt and we'll talk to the local people. Call me if you need anything. Watch out for Jane. You know what he's like."

"Yes boss", Cho replied, before hurrying after him.

"Maam, I'm agent Cho, and this is my colleague, Patrick Jane. We're from the CBI. Would we be able to ask you some questions?"

"Yes, of course. Come in." The fair haired woman closed the door as the two men stepped inside. "Tea?"

"Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you", replied Jane.

"No, thank you. Maam, you are Charlotte's mother?" Elizabeth nodded, sitting down on the wooded kitchen chair as the kettle boiled. Cho continued, "I know you've already gone over this, but what were you doing the day your daughter went missing?"

"We were at the park. Charlotte, Michael – her brother –, Tom, and me. Oh, Tom is – _was_ – Charlotte's best friend. They knew each other from school. They were very close. Tom's a lovely boy. He was so upset. The three of them went into the woods to play hide and seek, and after twenty minutes, Charlotte didn't come back out. I called the cops and they didn't find her. Two days later, and..." Elizabeth put her face into her hands, as a tear drifted down her cheek. "Sorry, sorry. I just can't believe... She's gone. She's really gone."

"It's understandable, maam. Please, take your time."

Her hair tumbled over her shoulders and half way down her back. A thick, beige jumper covered her arms and chest, and a pair worn pair of faded denim jeans her legs.

"Ms King, I don't suppose I could use your bathroom?" Patrick asked.

"Yes, sure. It's upstairs, and then the first door on your left." Excusing himself, he stood from his chair and headed to the first floor. As he reached the top step, his phone rang.

"Lisbon?"

"Jane. Cho said you're at the King's house. Don't do anything stupid."

"Lisbon. You know me. Would I ever do that?"

"_Please?"_

Patrick smiled before returning his phone to his pocket. Walking straight past the bathroom, he entered a young girl's bedroom. _Charlotte's bedroom_. The pink bed cover matched the walls; the carpet was of a similar colour. The floor was tidy and the shelves were organised: dolls and bears dangled their legs over the edges. Colouring pencils were scattered on the table in the corner and the completed drawings were taped to the walls. Patrick stepped lightly across the room, careful to not make too much noise. Opening the wardrobe draw, he looked inside. He flicked through dresses, trousers, and cardigans that hung neatly from the bar.

After picking up various items from the rest of the room, Patrick sat down on the bed, closed his eyes, and listed possible suspects. So far, he was sure that it wasn't the mother. His mind soon began to wander. He thought of the offer that Wainwright made him that morning. As futile as he knew talking about his family, Red John, and himself would be, he could only think that perhaps – _just perhaps _– it would achieve something. They didn't always have to discuss how Patrick felt. He knew that Wainwright was intelligent, so maybe the two of them _could_ have intelligent conversations.

_It's difficult to do that with the majority of people I work with_.

And that was another reason to accept the offer: he rarely interacted with people outside of work hours. Perhaps Wainwright was a way to change that. Still without a definite decision made, he heard heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, and then the door handle being pushed down.

"What are you doing in my daughter's bedroom? Get off her bed! I think you should leave now!"

"Of course, sorry. C'mon Cho, I'm hungry".


End file.
